


The Care and Feeding of Stray Heroes

by Kali_Blue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kali_Blue/pseuds/Kali_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sera's been exiled from the Keep - something to do with jamming a fan up an Orlesian ambassador's nose. Not her fault.</p><p>Cullen has no idea how to rebuff the advances of a woman under his command. </p><p>A quick, drabble-ish look at the lives of the Inquisition characters when they aren't off adventuring with or talking to the Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sera

**Author's Note:**

> Another Dragon Age story I've been writing - shorter and more crack based this time. Haha.

An elf, a male elf, was trying to get Sera’s attention. 

Gross. 

It was a tavern, to be fair. A grungy, backwater one, where human, elves and even dwarves would come together to drink themselves stupid. It happened. It still didn’t stop her from flipping the elf off and turning away. Besides the fact that the busty (human) woman with her chest crushed to his arm was far more her type, she was in no mood to be picked up by anybody. 

Sera scowled into her mug. She was bored.

Very bored. 

It’s not that she didn’t want to help the Inky with this ‘saving the world’ business. She did. Really. She’d just found that, for every occasion she accompanied the Inquisitor on one of her many adventure thingys, there were an equal amount of other occasions she’d spent sitting around at Haven doing absolutely nothing. The city had been better - full of shiny things to steal and nobles to take down a peg or two.

So she figured she’d fill in that time. Skulk around the Keep a little. Play some pranks. A rather elaborate one she’d concocted and been rather proud of had involved a Ferelden noblewoman, a wardrobe and a nug. 

All harmless. Really. 

Well. Almost completely harmless, anyway. One particular Orlesian ambassador had gotten on her last nerve by making snide remarks and turning up her nose at Sera for the last time. She’d only been walking by at the time but it hadn’t stopped the woman from making a particularly nasty comment to her two snotty friends – something about her city elf origins. Sera had promptly snatched the woman’s fan from her hands and jammed it up her left nostril. 

Sera firmly believed in an eye for an eye. The woman wouldn’t be turning up her nose up at Sera ever again.

After Josephine’s cries of distress – something to do with damage to diplomatic relations with the Orlesian court, etc, etc, and Leliana’s stern warning, Sera had been permanently exiled from the Ballroom. 

Not that she’d been left completely to her own devices, oh no. Sera drummed her fingers on the tabletop and tilted her head to her left. She was pretty sure the two tits in the corner were Leliana’s goons sent to keep an eye on her. Their backs were too straight. Eyes to alert. Mugs to untouched. Complete amateurs when it came to blending in. 

Maybe she’d play a prank on them - something involving chicken feathers and tar. It would alleviate some of the boredom and impatience that had been slowly creeping up on her as the day wore on. 

“Excuse me,’ A voice, female, broke her from her reverie and forced her to look up. A pair of chocolate-brown eyes met hers, completely furious and clearly ready to begin a fight the woman had no chance at winning. The big-breasted woman. Oh. 

‘Hello,’ Sera purred back, a wolfish grin overtaking her face as she let her eyes travel up the woman. In an instant the woman’s expression went from furious to stuttering and blushing. 

Sera's eyes flickered to the leering elf at the bar and back to the red-faced woman. She chuckled as his face fell. 

Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so boring after all.


	2. Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cross the Dread Wolf and he'll come back to bite you. Literally.

With eyebrows creased, Solas placed his paint brushes almost reverently on the shelf beside him. A second later he unthinkingly brought his hand up and rubbed his chin.

The Inquisitions recent jaunt to the Winter Palace had made the elf contemplative. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that it had been a considerably long time since he had been in such an environment. And yet, he was more than willing to admit that he had enjoyed every minute of it. A royal court, no matter the era or place, had always been a veritable fountain of gossip. Despite Vivienne and Dorians snide comments about his choice of clothing and apparent lack of culture - he had no inclination to enlighten them about his past - Solas had always found the intrigue and machinations of the court fascinating.

There had been, perhaps, one down side to it all.

As an elf Solas would have thought he’d have been beneath the notice of the nobility. No soul within that court would admit to stooping to such a level, for their own reputation if nothing else. One particularly well placed rumour, whether true or not, could quickly see a person become a virtual pariah of the court. In an environment where it was literally ‘survival of the fittest’, outcasts rarely lasted all that long.

Perhaps he’d been slightly naive. There were exceptions to every race, certainly, but Solas had not anticipated that so many humans would have such broad… tastes. Poor Cullen had been subject to those tastes more than he had. Much more then he had, in fact, but Solas had still found certain nobles of the court to be rather… grabby.

To grabby.

Now, for the most part Solas believed himself to be a centered person. Calm. Wise, even. He walked through the Veil. Spoke to ancient beings – heroes and witnesses alike of great events long past. He’d seen kingdoms rise and fall. Solas himself had even been a party of some of these events, but even the man once known as the Dread Wolf had his limits.  

It had been a certain plump, older woman – one wearing an ugly fox mask and a dress of such a bright orange that too even look upon it had been almost offensive - that had finally caused Solas to lose his patience.

And after being indiscreetly groped for the third time that evening Solas had decided return the favour – and _discreetly_ set her skirt on fire.

‘Solas,’ A voice, a woman, appeared from behind him and Solas turned to encounter Leliana, a scroll in hand, padding softly down the tower steps.

‘Leliana.’ Solas greeted her back, refusing to let the surprise show on his face. The red-head could be deathly quiet when she wanted to be, but the twinkle in her eye indicated that she knew she had caught him off guard. He refused to acknowledge it, ‘can I help you?’

‘Oh, indeed, you can,’ She replied, her gaze turning downwards toward the scroll as she stopped by the centre table. Her expression became stern, ‘this is a formal letter of complaint from the Orlesian court. We’ve had some rather… disturbing news. Concerning you.’

‘Me?’

‘You,’ she repeated, eyes still trained on the scroll, ‘It concerns an exchange between you and a minor duchess. She’s made a formal declaration of complaint against your character.’

‘Oh? That’s a surprise. I recall a few discussions with some minor nobility. I assure you, most topics of discussion were inconsequential in nature.’

‘You would remember this particular woman from her very, very offensive shoes and blindingly bright costume.’

Solas schooled his features to show mild surprise and curiosity. Nothing more. ‘Ah. Yes, I do remember talking to that particular duchess. Her outfit was rather… flamboyant. Nothing adverse happened, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘Of course,’ Leliana agreed almost breezily. ‘Still, you spent an inordinate amount of time in her presence so you _must_ be aware poor woman was set alight on the very day of the ball. Why, somebody burnt half her skirt away. Certainly not a sight for those with delicate sensibilities should be exposed to, I fear.’

‘How… unfortunate,’ Solas responded.

‘Indeed. I suppose it was a blessing she remained uninjured, but her reputation is still ruined.’

‘Yes,’ Solas tilted his head and sighed, knowing where Leliana was leading the conversation. So much for hiding his… indiscretion, ‘You haven’t said anything about the culprit.’

Leliana shrugged, also dropping the pretense if Solas was, ‘the duchess would have accused you publically, had we not threatened to expose her extra-marital affairs with her elven servants to her husband. Predictably, the prospect of being penniless as well powerless did not sit well with her.’

Her head turned up to meet him and against his will Solas felt an eyebrow rise. Leliana’s expression was severe but her eyes were laughing, ‘You may have gotten away with it, Solas - we also denied it on your behalf when the empress became aware of the… situation. Unfortunately, you still have some explaining to do. The next time you decide to set a duchess alight for being to free with her hands, just make sure not to do it in front of the Inquisitor.’


	3. Varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is not having a good day.

A soft groan from the other side of the War Room door made Varric freeze just as he was reaching for the handle. The suspicious creaking that immediately followed the moan made him grimace.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew that damn war table had been used for some kinky shit – even made a point of avoiding the area at night. But right now it’s the middle of the day, damn it, and sometimes he wished his current traveling companions showed some courtesy towards those in the group with slightly more... delicate sensibilities.

A small blessing that he’d heard it first, he supposed, as he had absolutely no wish to stumble upon a scene that would likely leave him scarred for life. He didn’t _need_ to see who was on the other side of the door to know who was there. Besides, as Sera had bluntly pointed out, Sparkler and Tiny weren’t exactly quiet about their night time proclivities anyway.

Silent as a ghost, Varric drew his hand to his side and walked away. He’d come up here after finally, _finally_ building the resolve to share what he knew about Hawke. Figured the news would likely get their attention, and not in a good way. Right now, though, that resolve had been replaced by a firm need to do some serious drinking. They could damn well wait.


	4. Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has no idea how to rebuff the advances of a woman under his command.

The woman was attractive, Cullen had to give her that. Eyes as blue as the sky. Small button nose. High cheekbones and pouty red lips. Legs that seemed go on forever. 

She would have reminded him of a doll, a fragile one, if he hadn’t seen her fight at Haven. 

And she was strong-willed. Maker, was she strong-willed. Cullen would have been able to deal with that – he loved strong-willed women – the Inquisitor was one of just many that he knew. 

What he couldn’t deal with, however, were her advances. Man or woman, he’d always been terrible when it came to people flirting with him. To this day he still gets shivers up his spine when he recalled his experiences at the Winter Palace. 

It had started with accidental touches, a light brushing of an arm or a hip. It had taken him aback slightly at first but he'd been able to ignore it. As the months passed the light brushing had turned into full-on body contact, and now she was using the _weakest_ excuses to glue her chest to his arm. 

Last week she’d wormed her way into sparring with him and the result, unfortunately, had not been good for him. At first he’d been impressed when she’d managed to work her way into his guard. A second later that competent swordswoman had managed to magically trip on nothing, and suddenly he found himself falling down with her in a tangle of limbs. She’d contrived to fall in such a way that had meant she’d not only fallen on top of him, but somehow moved her head so that her lips ‘accidentally’ met his. 

As he got to his feet Cullen’s face had gone as red as a tomato at the sniggers of his soldiers, and the woman, cheeks slightly pink but mouth tilting upwards in a sly smirk, had stuttered out a very convincing apology. 

It was getting to the point he was going to have to confront her about it. Or he _would_ have, if she hadn’t tried the same thing again. 

Only this time when she falls forward he chooses to sidestep, something she isn’t expecting. Her eyes turn wide. The woman hurls herself forward in such a way that she somersaults straight into the mud. 

She doesn’t speak to him now. He’s fine with that. 


	5. Dorian and the Iron Bull

‘Dorian, what are you doing?’ Iron Bull asked the Tevinter mage, eyebrows raised, as the man circled the War Table. He looked serious.

Damn. Okay, so maybe the Iron Bull had misinterpreted the night time invitation. He’d been hoping that Dorian would be up for some fun time. While the War Room was by and large used for strategising, planning and various other miscellaneous things, the quanari hadn’t come up here expecting to use it for the _actual_ purpose it was intended.

Maybe Dorian _actually_ wanted his advice on some important matter. Which, okay, was horribly disappointing, and distracting, because he’d… err… worked himself up before he got here.

Didn’t matter. If Dorian needed his help the qunari would gladly give it, so the Iron Bull smoothed out his features and leaned against the wall. He waited.

The mage didn’t answer at first, and the Iron Bull began to feel a tad worried.  Then Dorian stopped at the end of the table, grabbed the edge, and begun to shake it.

Before Iron Bull could ask, Dorian let out a loud, exaggerated moan. Then he stopped, turned, and padded towards the qunari with an expression of barely suppressed laughter.

‘Scaring off eavesdroppers.’ The mage said by way of explanation, eyes crinkled in a smile. He took the quanari by the hand and drew him towards the table.

‘Ah.’


End file.
